


Those Tortured Souls

by misslizanne



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, Captain Swan - Freeform, F/M, Fantasy, Norwegian Mythology & Folklore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2018-01-13 14:54:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1230604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misslizanne/pseuds/misslizanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amongst the tales and the legends that surrounded the <i>skeppsrån</i>, the watchers of the sea and its ships, beautiful but elusive women who vowed to protect men from the dangers that lurk down in the deepest waters, came the story of a kindred connection between a pirate and a watcher, opposites who were never meant to meet but were always fated to heal one another's tortured souls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Tortured Souls

**Prologue**

The stories floated throughout the kingdom for centuries, tales of ethereal women trapped within the woods of a mystical forest, guarding its creatures and fighting against the enemies that threatened to harm their home. Soldiers were warned to never enter, for fear that they would be entrapped there, or worse, slain, for these women were elusive, using their beautiful features and sultry words to fool men, hiding their carved out backs, all hollowed and empty, until it was too late and the men had succumbed to a horrible fate for their recklessness.

The neighboring kingdoms always feared this land, this dark forest with its hanging willows and mossy floor, with its tall trees that blocked out sunlight and winding dirt paths that provided no exit for those who dared to venture in. For decades, this corner of the realm was a mystery, until a corrupt king made it his mission to clear this forest, ridding the realm of the merciless women who seduced their men and killed their soldiers.

The king ruthlessly slayed the only safe haven these women had, and used them for his own selfish needs. He carved the wood from their backs and used it to build ships, massive sea-faring vessels used for war and battle, traveling across oceans and throughout realms due to the wood’s enchanted quality. The women, now woven into the planks of the ship, were forced to stay by each ship’s side for a hundred years, guiding each craft through dangerous waters, miles away from the earthy soil of their home.

Years passed, and the women ultimately became a part of the sea, growing into wisps of ocean mist, foam covering their taut bodies and providing a disguise that hid their true appearance from humans. They always remained close enough to guard the ships that passed through their waters, the ones that guided them to this strange new place, and they found pride in the protection they afforded these vessels against raging storms and giant beasts, battleships and evil demons. Eventually, they developed a soft spot for the mere mortals they once despised, and used their abilities to watch over each ship that crossed their path.

The women themselves were now a legend, a myth amongst sailors and pirates alike, and the men grew accustomed to the help they always received from them, often praying to these  _skeppsrån_ to keep their vessel safe from harm, offering gifts to the waters in a gracious effort to show their thanks as well as their resolute alliance.

Some men claimed to have seen one, a soft figure draped in sunbeams, with milky-white curves and long, golden locks, or a mist of ocean spray revealing the face of a woman with piercing green eyes and a mesmerizing smile. But the women, these watchers of the sea and its ships, refused to reveal themselves, for they were tortured souls, ripped from their forest home by the ancestors of these very men, and they feared they would be mistreated once more.

And yet, amongst the tales and the legends that surrounded these beings, another one began to filter throughout the land and sea, one of a young watcher named Emma who would unite her kind with humans through a kindred connection, a sailor-turned-pirate who would experience loss and heartbreak all too often until he met this  _skeppsrån_ , and his own tortured soul was healed.

* * *

  **The First Words**

As a youth, Killian Jones was adamant that these beings, these _skeppsrån_ , were nothing more than a story, a tale that sailors told over candlelight to lighten the mood during times of war. He’d spent years with Liam, listening to the myth as told by his brother’s crew, skeptical of the notion that mythical guardians watched over their ship for no reason beyond their own choosing. He grew even more wary of the tale as he grew older, but admired Liam’s wholehearted belief in it, never questioning the strange ritual of tossing gifts into the ocean for something—or rather _someone_ —they couldn’t even see.

It wasn’t until the day Liam died, his brother’s body cold in his arms, that his suspicions began to wash away, the myth becoming a tangible story he could recall years later. He remembered the small flicker of light hovering in the doorframe, the one he could see out of the corner of his eye through the cloud and haze of his tears. He blinked once, then twice, a figure coming into full view, golden curls flowing across her shoulders, her eyes glowing green as they reflected off the late afternoon sun that peered through the windowpane. She smiled once, almost as if she understood his pain, and then she was gone, flashing away into the dust of the sunbeams.

The encounter left him startled, convincing him to keep alive the tradition his brother so boldly supported, the one his men so firmly believed in. He continued to offer gifts to the ocean, to these watchers as if his life depended on it in hopes that she would return one day, knowing the _skeppsrån_ were only supposed to guard the ship, not the ship’s inhabitants, and the fact that she had formed in front of his eyes was not a mere coincidence.

But years passed and he never saw her again, her beauty and grace all but a distant memory as his attitude grew brash and cocky, the pirate bravado necessary for the captain of a stolen naval vessel slowly becoming part of his natural demeanor. He wasn’t sure if the beings still considered his ship valuable, if its newfound pirate status deemed it unworthy of their watch so he put an end to the offerings, prohibiting the men from performing them and writing off the watchers as if they’d never existed at all.

Years later, he met Milah, a young barmaid, and whisked her away from her mundane life to travel the realms on his enchanted ship, dreaming of a future and a family and all the things his heart sorely missed. But then she revealed her true self to him, exposed that she was in fact a cold-hearted siren, a mermaid who was only exploiting him for his odd connection to the mystical beings that shrouded his ship. She warned him of a _skeppsrån_ who would come to him, to the _savior_ , for help and only then would his life and his crew be in actual jeopardy. He lunged towards her, groaning in pain as she sliced off his left hand with her razor sharp fin as she dived into the waters, never to be seen again.

The pain swelled and shot up and down his arm and side for weeks, and he wondered if this was his punishment for disobeying the tradition, that the _skeppsrån_ were rightly disciplining him for years of ignoring their existence. It wasn’t until several months later, as he lay in his bed, the cauterized wound still tender to the touch, metal hook and brace left stranded on his desk, that she formed in the sea spray against the hull of the Jolly Roger, floating through the small crack in the windowpane, her figure illuminated by the moon’s light against the black midnight sky.

He could sense her as she stood over him, her body encompassed by a wisp of salty sea and foam, small white shells poking through her collarbone. However, her features, bright green eyes so soft and empathetic, a knowing smile that crept up the side of her lips, shown through the mist like a beacon in the dark room. He turned his full body away from the wall, his left arm still clutched to his side as if the wound was cut only yesterday, unable to stare directly at the untouchable elegance standing before him.

“I remember you,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the immense pain shooting up his arm, the pain that was always worse at night when his mind could only linger on all he’d lost. “You were there the day my brother died.”

She only nodded, knowing better than to speak to the mortal, already breaking the rules just by forming in his company, of revealing her being to a human, the one action her kind was barred from performing. _We do not form in front of the eyes of man, we only guide them to safe harbor._ The saying of her kind, and yet, here she was, sea and sand and spray coming together in front of his sapphire gaze.

His eyes were filled with such agony as he sat up in the bed, arm seized closely to his bare chest, a fresh bandage wrapped tightly around the stub just below his elbow. “Is your kind mute, love?” he scoffed, watching as her eyes grew alarmed when his body lifted off the bed to stand before her.

Her mouth fell agape, words stuck in her throat as she fought the urge to speak to him, console him as she tried to do all those years ago. He was dashing, and quite handsome, with tousled raven-black hair upon his head and a grin that could melt even a _skeppsrån_ ’s heart, but he was so very cracked, the heartbreak of his life seeping through the creases around his weary eyes, through the scars that littered his stiff torso and strong back. She only shook her head in response, causing him to roll his eyes, mocking her inability to answer him.

“Unless you’re here to mend my sorry excuse of a life,” he began to say, teeth clenched tightly, slight winces escaping his throat as he pushed through his speech, his good hand running through his hair as if to bring himself to his senses. “I have no use for this hallucination. Please, just leave me be.”

She sighed slowly, her breath hot across his face, the salt in her exhale stinging his tired skin. She let out a small smile, the same one she’d offered him the day Liam had died, but it appeared weaker, creases growing around her eyes as if she’d grown just as tired since he last looked upon her.

“You’re one of them?” he asked, limping slowly towards her. “You’re a _skeppsrån_.”

She nodded again, her form hovering dangerously close to this pirate, the captain of a ship they were discouraged from guarding. Her kind was aware of the dark heart of this man, the cold soul who was once full of hope and love but grew into the hostile, greedy pirate before her today, the one who ignored the apparent need for her kind’s services. Only she had watched over this ship, observing it in secrecy so as not to bring attention to him or his crew. In that time, she’d watched him change from the wide-eyed naval lieutenant to the brash captain of a ship, and now to this, hurt and broken and angry, so very  _angry._

“Why do you remain silent, love?” he pressed, strolling closer and reaching out a hand to brush through the soft wisps of sea foam before him. When she still didn’t speak, he chuckled, the sound low and ominous to her ears, so different from the officer she’d once watched over. “I think it’s because you are breaking some sort of code, are you not?”

She smiled again in response as he lifted his right hand up towards her face, watching as her transparent form began to mold into creamy-white skin when he whisked his hand across her cheek. The development startled him, causing him to place his hand back down at his side, closing his eyes as if to calm himself in front of this apparent mirage.

“What is your name?” he continued, hobbling back towards his bed and sitting down gently upon it, the previous action almost too tiring for his body to handle. “Well, go on. Can’t be silent forever.”

She exhaled quietly, the sea breeze blowing through the window and disfiguring the misty form she’d maintained up until then. “Emma,” she finally spoke, her voice cutting through the splash of waves crashing against the hull, sounding sincere and angelic, echoing across his quarters and filling his heart with a warmth that he’d so easily forgotten.

“Emma,” he murmured through a wince, laying himself back down on the bed. “Lovely name, lass.”

“As is yours, Killian Jones,” she responded with a reassuring grin, causing his head to shoot up from the pillow, a single eyebrow rising in confusion. “Don’t you ever forget that, my dear sailor.”

And then her form dissipated before him, floating out through the window against the moonlight as he sunk into a deep slumber.

* * *

The next morning as he got dressed, he assumed she was a hallucination, a side effect of the immense trauma he’d endured and the rum he’d guzzled down to help him sleep. But when his eyes traced towards his desk, a small white shell was left amongst his papers, placed next to his hook and brace. It was enlightened by the sunbeams cascading into his quarters, and he raised himself from his bed, walking over to the small gift, an offering from a watcher to a sailor.

It was still warm to the touch, covered in a layer of sea salt and smelling of the ocean mist he’d become so accustomed to, and he wondered if she’d left it this morning or before she vanished. She couldn’t have been real though, but the understanding that she was nothing but real kept chanting over and over again in his mind. She was so very _real_.

He played with the shell, moving it through the fingers of his good hand, the feeling of rough sand under his calloused skin comforting to his wracked and tired body.

“I see you found my gift,” he heard whispered behind him, swiftly turning around to glance upon the fair maiden forming in front of him. Her body was wrapped in mist and foam like the night before, but her face was clearer today, glistening against the golden sun.

He chuckled, more lighthearted than she’d grown accustomed to, causing Emma to release a soft smile from her lips. “So you do speak, love,” he teased, fingers still fumbling with the small shell, his eyes locking on to her collarbone where an empty space lay in the middle, right above her heart.

Emma nodded in response. “Yes, in fact I do. But my kind is dissuaded from speaking with men such as yourself.”

Hook grimaced slightly at her statement. “You mean the pirate thing, aye?”

“No,” Emma stated firmly, floating closer to him. “Just men. All mortals, actually.”

He glanced once more at the shell, then back up at her. She was remarkably beautiful, even more so in the daylight, her bright, golden curls bouncing off the sun’s beams, floating down her back and catching within the ethereal quality of her form as her silhouette continued to reanimate itself in the ever-changing air of his cabin. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say he was hallucinating yet again, or just plain drunk.

“Why give me this, love?” he asked, waving the small shell in between them, watching as her eyes grew more mischievous, a small smirk forming at the corners of her lips.

“I wanted to make sure you understood I was real,” she responded, her form floating nearer, transparent hands reaching out towards him in supplication. “I need you to believe, Killian.”

“Name’s Hook, love,” he responded, smug grin plastered across his face at the sound of his given name, the one that reminded him of his forgotten mother and felon of a father, his lost brother and his siren of a lover. That man was a man of honor, who stuck to the code, who fought tooth and nail to escape his father’s name, who avenged his brother’s life alongside the men of his crew. He turned back towards his desk, sliding the brace up his bare elbow, screwing the icy cold hook into place.

Emma dissipated, the top half of her form reappearing in front of him, floating on top of the desk. “I have been watching you for years,” she began, reaching out her hand and swatting at his hook. “And you are still Killian Jones, you just need to...”

“I am not him!” he bellowed, causing Emma’s form to vibrate against the echo of his voice, his hook slicing through the mist of her torso.

Emma stayed still while her form restructured, mind hard at work, contemplating how to make him listen to her. “Then what are you?” she asked, her tone demanding and strict, as if she was scolding him alongside the question.

A devious grin grew on his lips as he brought his hook close to his face, dragging it along the tip of his nose. “A pirate, love. A vengeful pirate who intends to slaughter every last mermaid I can get my hands on.”

She let out an exasperated sigh, realizing he was far too gone at this point. If only she had come to him before Milah, before the mermaid had abandoned him and stomped on his already fragile heart, before the tangible memory of that monster, hidden away in the scar on his elbow had overwhelmed the pain still present in his soul. If only she could just get him to believe, then maybe... just maybe he could help her. He was the one the legends spoke of, the pirate who would save her kind, the _savior_ , and yet she couldn’t imagine the man in front of her being anything but ruthless and cold.

“But Killian, you are so much more than that!” she squeaked out, her angelic voice seemingly unfit for an argument. “You are the _savior_! And I can show you that if you just let me!”

“Bloody Christ, would you just get lost already?” he scoffed, causing Emma to gasp at the irritation in his voice. “I don’t need you or your kind’s help. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I have more important issues to attend to besides talking to a goddamned hallucination.”

Emma looked upon him, stunned at the stranger standing in front of her. This was certainly not the kind lieutenant who offered gifts to her and her sisters, despite his skepticism. This was certainly not the young pirate who continued the tradition, if not to appease the _skeppsrån_ , then at least to keep the memory of his late brother alive. This was Captain... Captain _Hook_ , as he so easily called himself, and he had no intention of believing in her or her kind.

“ _Emma_ , wait,” he pleaded as as she swirled away in a haze of sea spray and salt before he could apologize for his temper, floating away as quickly as she'd appeared.

The small shell she’d gifted to him, the one she’d plucked from her own body, was still rolling in between his fingers as he wrapped his head around the encounter. She’d called him the _savior_ , just as Milah had done, but it’s meaning left him perplexed. The _savior_. The term sounded empty in his mind, filled with promises and guarantees a man like himself could not deliver on, and the frustration caused him to march vehemently out of his quarters, the door to his cabin flinging open and banging against the outside wall.

“You act like you’ve never seen your captain before,” he sneered as he swaggered onto the deck, his crew frozen in his presence as he sighed, waving his hook towards them. “As you were, mates.”

He watched as they hesitated to move, their eyes trailing their captain as he made his way towards the nearest railing. He held the shell close to his heart, muttering some incomprehensible phrase before chucking the item into the water and heading back towards his cabin.

“I see our dear captain’s gone bat-shit crazy,” mumbled a younger crewmember, one who wasn’t there the day they gave Liam over to the ocean, the day they burned the Pegasus sail to ash and vowed to remain pirates, the one who knew nothing of the ache in his heart and the vengeful agony that was beginning to brew in his soul.

He quickly pivoted, releasing his sword from the scabbard hanging off his belt and pushing the young lad up against one of the ship’s masts, holding the blade close to his throat, hook digging precariously into his shoulder. “You wish to insult your captain when he has not one, but two weapons on his person?”

The young lad didn’t speak, shuddering under the force of the sword inching precariously close to his throat.

Hook shook the lad once more. “What’s your name, mate?” he sneered, a toothy grin growing across his lips as he released the crewmember, a light snicker escaping his throat as he noticed that all eyes on deck were locked onto him.

“H-Henry,” he stuttered, trembling in the presence of his menacing captain.

“Foolish decision, Henry,” he mumbled, turning his sword around to point at the other crewmembers still bewildered at the threatening attitude their captain so proudly displayed. “Anybody else care to poke fun at their dear Captain?”

Most stood still, too frightened to even breath. Only his first and second mates, David and Smee, shook their heads, answering silently for the concerned crewmembers surrounding them.

Hook smirked as he returned his blade to its place against his hip, sauntering up towards the ship’s wheel. “Tonight, we travel to Neverland!” he shouted over the howl of wind that gusted across the deck, billowing the sails in its wake. “Prepare yourself, mates. It’s going to a hell of a ride.”


End file.
